


Mending the Noble Heart

by Elri



Category: Hamlet (2009), Hamlet - All Media Types, Hamlet - Shakespeare
Genre: Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 09:45:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4914730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elri/pseuds/Elri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Orpheus/Eurydice style continuation of the story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mending the Noble Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oopsabird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oopsabird/gifts).
  * Inspired by [These Mortal Lullabies](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100534) by [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust). 



He gets the idea in the spring after the coldest winter of his life. Standing at the grave of the man he'd loved, still loves if he's being honest, he looks at the grass starting to grow and hears a voice in the back of his memories say "Looks like the queen has left her throne for the season." Despite his Christian upbringing, the wild prince had always had a deep fascination with the Greeks' mythology, especially the gods and heroes. Their classics class was one of the few he and Horatio both had enough interest in to not get off track while studying. Initially Horatio had been more interested in the language of the stories than what they were saying but the romantic in him hadn't stayed hidden for long as their study sessions carried long into the night. Now that romantic thinks of a king awaiting his queen's return, the turning of the seasons, and a young lover braving Hell for the love that should have been. There was no stopping death, everyone knew that, but perhaps it could be delayed.

Horatio returns to school, if only to spend one last time in the place He had loved, but it feels too big without that love to fill it. There's a piece missing, and they can’t teach him how to get it back. So Horatio leaves and starts a new course, learning all he can about what will await him when he sets off to the world below where all go to but few return from, and even those never for long. He knows that all the knowledge in the world will only sharpen his mind, that his resolve will be under the most pressure, but he hasn’t once faltered in his aims and doesn’t plan to start.

The months leading up to the winter solstice are the longest of Horatio’s life. The autumn is warmer than usual and it feels as though the seasons are mocking him.

_Turn back now, the queen isn’t going back this year, she knows your plan and she’s laughing at you. She’ll never let him go, and she’s not even going to give the chance to try._

Still Horatio never begins to doubt.

Slowly but surely the leaves catch the autumn fire and drop to the ground, paving the way forward.

The first frost comes in November, a month before the solstice. Horatio spends that day outside while the rest of the world shuts itself away.

December 21, twenty-two minutes before midnight, the solstice officially starts. Horatio stands on what feels like the edge of the world and looks out into the dark. No one knows he’s there, he only arrived today and moved with the shadows to get where he is now. Not even a year ago he’d followed his prince into these woods on the trail of a ghost, now he’s the one chasing the ghost but no one’s following after him. Armed only with the stupid plastic recorders he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of, Horatio steps forward and keeps going, not once turning around. He prays to a higher power he’s not sure he believes in that he won’t turn around when it truly matters.

There are two ways into the Underworld, by river or by land. Neither are guaranteed. But he walks until the forest isn’t familiar. He walks until the fog and mist are so thick the trees are just shadows. He walks until he’s sure he’s left the old world behind. And he keeps walking.

Soon Horatio starts to see shadows moving in the mist. People of all ages wandering towards the siren call of the Underworld. They all wear grey, loose clothing, establishing them all as equals regardless of age, race, or gender. Horatio stands out among them but none pay him any mind. He walks with them to a river’s edge and they all stand in wait as a ferry emerges from the fog over the water. Horatio is reminded of another time he stood on a shore, waiting for the return of a friend. The…figure at the helm waits until the vessel has come to a complete stop before opening the gate on the side.

Horatio is the first to try to step on board but of course is stopped.

_“You are not dead. I cannot take you.”_

“What if I could offer you something more valuable than any coin these people can offer you?”

_“What could you possibly offer to me?”_

Horatio reaches into his pocket and pulls out one of the two other items he brought with him.

_“A pen?”_

“Countless unwritten words. Potential bound only by imagination. What price can be put on that?”

Charon says nothing but takes the pen, stepping aside to allow Horatio onto the Ferry. The other souls fill in around him and they depart.

The journey is neither long nor short, but merely a passing of time. Horatio is the first to step off, starting to head forward when he’s stopped by a hand on his arm. Turning he sees a young male figure dressed in running gear with wings painted on the sides of his shoes.

 **“Hello, Horatio,”** Hermes says.

“Are you here to take me back to the upper world?”

**“No; the gods have heard your plight and I have come to bring you to Hades and Persephone. It’s been so long since a hero has come to their halls seeking anything beyond glory or fame, and Aphrodite has been touched by the love in your heart. Come with me.”**

Horatio doesn’t have time to respond before Hermes turns and sets a quick pace in what seems to be a random direction. Souls that hang like wisps of smoke around them, drifting after the pair in idle curiosity. The air is chilled and damp but Horatio doesn’t let it slow him down as he tries to keep up with the god guiding him.

The hall of the rulers of the Underworld is not nearly as dark as he thought it would be. Or looming. Instead it just seems to take form around him, a room with walls that don’t get closer as you walk towards them and yet when you turn around the opposite wall has not moved further either.

The thrones speak to the unity and individuality of the deities. Persephone’s reminds Horatio of the petrified wood still standing in Pompeii, Hades’ is a dark grey stone. Both are elegantly carved as befits rulers of their stature.

As Horatio gazes up at them he becomes aware of the figures sitting above him and though he swears they weren’t there before he can’t remember when they arrived.

 **“Welcome, Horatio.”** It is Persephone who speaks to him, her voice steady and low. **“So, you have come to retrieve the prince you so willingly served no matter what.”**

“No,” The whole room seems to retreat from him, afraid of the repercussions of his contradiction. “I have come to reunite with the man I love.”

**“So you would stay here if I told you it was the only way to be with him again?”**

“In a heartbeat, even if it’s my last.”

 **“Would you trade your life for his?”** This time it’s Hades who asks. His voice is rougher, less used.

“No. He would never forgive himself for the decision that I made, and I cannot condemn him to that life. He deserves to be happy.”

**“You are either very brave, or very foolish…there are three things you must do: you must offer something in his place, you must convince him to go with you, and you must leave this place with him, without looking back. Do you believe you are capable of these tasks?”**

“I do.”

 **“Very well then, what do you have to offer in his place?”** The queen of the dead laughs when she sees Horatio’s offering, **“An empty, used up pen? How is that equal to a soul?”**

“Words,” Horatio offers, “Love, sorrow, joy, pain, forgiveness. Every word I have ever written with this pen took on its own life and gave a different meaning to someone else’s. This pen is a mother, and a father, and now it has served its purpose to the end. It is not empty, it is filled with memories.”

Persephone leans forward and rests her chin on woven fingers, evaluating the man before her and his gift. Hades watches his wife and then, after the barest change in her demeanor, sits back with a ghost of a smile and a nod.

 **“Very well. The rest is now up to you.”** The thrones return to the mist. As they go, Horatio thinks he hears a whisper of **“Good luck, young lover”** but doesn’t have time to think about it as a familiar lean form appears in front of him.

“Hamlet” It’s the first time he’s said the prince’s name in ages, laying it out like a well-worn blanket. The shadow looks at him, looks through him, but doesn’t respond. “Hamlet, I brought something for you,” Horatio holds out one of the recorders, “It isn’t much, but I couldn’t leave it behind. And I’m not leaving you behind either.” Horatio keeps talking as the ghost takes the recorder and stares at it, “We’re getting out of here. I don’t know where we’ll go but it doesn’t matter. The world is waiting for us, we’ve left it waiting long enough.”

With a deep breath to steel his resolve, Horatio turns around and starts walking. The shadows around him part, some drifting off to be indifferent elsewhere, but the rest stand in two lines on either side, showing him what he hopes is the path back to the living world.

The silence eats at him, too much like how it’s been without Hamlet’s vibrant personality. So Horatio takes his cue from the man (he hopes with all his heart is) behind him and begins speaking about anything and everything.

“You asked me, on that day, to tell your story. I have to admit I haven’t done as well as I should have. But I will now, I will tell your story, the true one. It doesn’t start with a young prince who has just lost his father, it starts with a young man who’s just discovered a world where he can carve his own place rather than try to compress himself into the mold created before his birth. It starts with a young man, his dream…and the man who refused to stop loving him…”

As Horatio speaks, other shadows gather near. When they try to distract or deter him he speaks louder. He recites poems that Hamlet wrote that he hadn’t realized were stitched into his heart; he recites poems that he wrote himself for Hamlet that no one else has ever heard before. When those words run out he raises the recorder and squeaks out a passable “Three Blind Mice” on the cursed instrument. That only goes so far though and he starts speaking again.

If anyone had asked Horatio would have told them Hamlet was a wordsmith, his silver tongue quick and crafty, but Horatio’s words are gold as they ring with the unfettered truth of his love.

 

Horatio steps into the light of the rising sun, now firmly above ground, but still does not turn around. He’s afraid it’s all been a dream, or a trick of the gods. He’s afraid he’s failed, and now he’s alone again.

Until, that is, he hears the familiar, ever off-key tune of “Three Blind Mice” behind him.

Horatio looks back.

 

Hamlet’s smile shines a light through the broken pieces of Horatio’s heart to make them sparkle and shine with a love just as strong as it’s ever been.

“Hullo,” He’s surely about to make some smart-ass remark but doesn’t get the chance because Horatio grabs onto the fencing jacket he’s wearing now that he’s returned to the living world and pulls Hamlet as close as he can, both hands gripped tightly against his back. Hamlet’s hands come up to cradle Horatio’s neck and rest on the small of his back. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, my friend. If I had listened to you, if I had refused the duel” Horatio starts to protest but Hamlet stops him, “No, I should have listened. I don’t know that I’ll ever forgive myself for causing you such pain, nor will I ever be able to fully express how happy and grateful I am to be here, alive, and with you.”

“I love you, Hamlet.”

“And I love you, my wonderful hero.”

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 18th Olivia! 2100 words, 100 for each year of your life and for the years we've known each other (yes I stole your idea from the mixtape, hush)


End file.
